


SOS Drabbles: Take Two and Call Me In the Morning

by keelywolfe



Series: by any other name [101]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Prejudice Against Monsters (Undertale), Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:08:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 18,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23593621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: Even MORE drabbles written for the BAON universe.
Relationships: Kustard, Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale), Sans/Sans (Undertale), Spicyhoney
Series: by any other name [101]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1039829
Comments: 436
Kudos: 201





	1. Boo-boos

**Author's Note:**

> Like everyone else in the world right now, I'm stuck at home with my anxiety dancing around like oil on a hot skillet. Aside from everything else, it's affecting my writing and so, I decided I was going to make this collection of drabbles and just try to have some fun. Not stress too much about making them perfect or agonizing over titles, nothing but enjoying. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this series as long as you have, everyone, I really appreciate it and I love sharing it with you all.

* * *

The front door opening was unexpected, but Edge finished wiping off the shelf he was dusting before he spoke. 

“You weren’t outside for long—” Edge began, turning to look. The rest of the words froze on his tongue, hastily discarded for, “What happened??”

“it’s not that bad,” Stretch tried even as Edge rushed to his side, hands hovering over his husband as he tried to decide where to start. There were scrapes and bruises blossoming on his bones from the crown of his skull all the way down to the torn-out knees of his pants. Beads of marrow were welling up and was that a tiny piece of gravel nearly embedded into Stretch forehead?

“Your definition of not that bad could use some work!” Edge snapped as he helped Stretch over to the sofa and what a pair they made, Stretch wounded and him with his leg still in a walking cast, both of them limping along in the world’s worst three-legged race. 

Stretch made a feeble noise of protest as Edge pushed him down. “i’ll mess up the cushions!”

“I’ll worry about that later.” Edge shifted to sit on the coffee table across from his husband, absently noting the faint tremble in his hand as he lightly touched the worst scrape. Stretch was right, it really wasn’t that bad, but seeing his love hurt when not twenty minutes ago he’d been cheerily running out the front door left him a little shaken. 

Stretch only sat and allowed Edge to check him over, obediently tipping his skull this way and that as Edge scrutinized the injuries. “There’s no cracks,” Edge said at last. “Only a few scrapes.”

“see, i told you—” Stretch trailed off as Edge swung a Look at him. “babe, I’ll be fine.”

“You will,” Edge agreed, stripping off his gloves. He gingerly settled a hand over the nasty scrape on Stretch forehead, felt the dampness of marrow smearing his palm. He took a long, slow breath, let it out. Healing magic still didn’t come easily to him, but Stretch couldn’t heal himself and he wasn’t about to let his love suffer even from little hurts. Nor was he going to call Blue over something so minor. He could do this. 

He closed his sockets, focusing. Under his hand, he felt Stretch wince as his hand heated with green magic, but when Edge opened his sockets and removed his hand, the only thing left of the wound was the dappled spots of marrow. 

He leaned down to start on Stretch’s scraped knees. “Were you going to tell me what happened?”

From the way Stretch was squirming, Edge guessed he was hoping he’d forgotten that part of the question. 

Finally, Stretch sighed. “okay, so, i was outside playing with the kids.”

“yes, with the other twelve-year olds, go on.”

“and oscar brought along his skateboard."

Edge paused. “You didn’t.”

A ruddy flush rose in Stretch’s cheek bones, blotchy and orange. “i wasn’t that bad at it!”

“All the evidence indicates otherwise.” Edge shook his head. He loved his husband with every pulse of his soul, but he truly was one of the least coordinated Monsters he’d ever met. Bad depth perception did not make for grace. 

“yeah, well,” Stretch slumped back against the sofa cushions. “i was doing okay but there was a hole in the road and i couldn’t figure out how to turn.”

“I see.” Edge laid a gentle hand on each of Stretch’s knees and focused. “And it didn’t occur to you to shortcut away?”

“sure it did,” Stretch gasped, trying not to squirm away from the heat of the healing. ”after i hit the ground.”

“Hm.” Knees healed, Edge leaned back and looked Stretch over critically. The worst of the bruises were fading and the rest could heal on their own. He plucked a tissue from the box on the table and dabbed away the drying marrow on Stretch’s forehead, then leaned in to press a light kiss to it. “There, all better.”

“thanks, doc,” Stretch gave him a lopsided smile, “gonna kiss all my boo-boos?”

“Of course,” Edge told him with all seriousness. 

Stretch’s smile widened and he pointed at his mouth, “think i got one right here.”

His soft laughter was caught against Edge’s mouth as he kissed him, melting into a sigh. There was a particular sort of healing in a kiss, one not for the bones but for the soul, and Edge was going to give his love as many as he could.

-fin


	2. Preservation

* * *

Of all the love affairs in Stretch’s life, the one that endured the longest, through all the best and worst of times, was his deep, unbidden affection for junk food. 

Look, he loved Edge’s cooking, seriously, he really did. When his baby really got going, he sure knew how to put on the Ritz, whether it was muffins or meatloaf, stirring up pancakes or a pan sauce, it was always delicious.

But man, sometimes you gotta have a different kind of Ritz, the cracker kind. Sometimes the craving for artificial yellow #5 couldn’t be denied and Stretch had a stash of goodies hidden away in the pantry, back behind the bags of whole wheat flour and sugar that Edge kept on hand. 

Today there was a Twinkie calling his name and Stretch was going for it. First, he needed an alibi and one came to him in the form of a Netflix, watching while lying innocently on the sofa while Edge went through his weekend laundry routine. He waited for the basement door to close behind him and that was when his plan came into play.

First, a shortcut into the kitchen so there were no suspicious footsteps leading in. Next, a quick scramble into the pantry where he promptly knocked two cans off the shelf, catching them before they hit the ground with a desperate skill he couldn’t have replicated on a bet. He set the cans carefully back on the shelf and crouched down, reaching behind the bags and feeling around for his stash. At first there was nothing and then just as panic was setting in, the crinkle of cellophane.

“gotcha,” Stretch murmured. He pulled it out and there it was in all its golden glory. The Twinkie, golden sponge cake and cream, along with enough preservatives to mummify a cat, if anyone was inclined to go the old Egypt route. He opened the wrapper, inhaling the sweet aroma of monoglycerides and high fructose corn syrup.

The taste was even better, pure chemical bliss and Stretch moaned as he chewed, damn, this was the shit and—

“What are you doing?”

It came from directly behind him and in a moment of panic, Stretch crammed the whole thing in his mouth, wrapper and all, frantically licking his teeth clean before turning to look at Edge. Who was looking down at him suspiciously, crimson eye lights narrowed.

“nuffin!” Stretch burbled as he scrambled to his feet, trying to keep a burst of crumbs from coming out with the words. Desperately, he swallowed, holding back a gag with sheer willpower as the cellophane incorporated into his magic along with the poor, abused Twinkie. Ah, well, it died as it lived. Unhealthily. That problem handled, he tried again, brightly, “nothing!”

Edge nodded slowly. “Just felt like crawling around on the pantry floor for no good reason?”

If there was no other route, the path of righteous indignation was always there. “yeah, so? i don’t make fun of your hobbies.”

“You absolutely do.”

Yeah, that defense wasn’t gonna fly, he teased Edge about his action figures all the time. “okay, i do, but it’s done with affection!”

That suspicious look finally eased, and Edge leaned up to give him a light peck on the mouth, murmuring as he drew back, “Yes, it is. Well, don’t let me interrupt you.” He turned and walked back out of the pantry and just as Stretch was relaxing, he called back, “You might want to brush your teeth when you’re done if you want any other kisses. I’ve never cared for the taste of preservatives.”

Stretch whipped around to stare at him, that preservative-flavored mouth of his dropping open, but Edge only raised a brow bone at him and closed the door behind him. He stared for a long moment and then he could only laugh, crouching down to dig out another Twinkie so he could get his junk food fix without the extra aftertaste. 

Did he say his longest love affair was with junk food? That might be true enough, but the love he felt for his husband left it behind in sugary, crumb-filled dust. 

-fin


	3. Egg-splanations

* * *

Stretch was only a couple of steps past the sliding glass door when he screeched to a halt, walking backwards until he could look outside again, just to verify that he’d actually seen that.

Yep. That was what he thought he’d seen.

Edge was out in the backyard with the chickens, standing with one hand on his hip and with the other shaking a finger sternly at Nugget. Who was looking up at him, her little head cocked to the side as if she was taking in every word. 

Okay, yeah, this needed some context. But first…

Stretch dug out his phone and took a picture, quickly setting it as his phone background before he opened the sliding glass door. 

“…so you can’t keep doing this!” Edge was saying. “The fence is not there only to hold you in, it’s for your own protection!”

Nugget replied with a series of inquisitive clucks, wandering closer to Edge and looking up at him hopefully. 

“No. You stop that,” Edge scolded. “I can’t carry you around all the time while I’m out here, I am working on the gardens beds. You realize that’s to your benefit as well, you all loved the seed plants from last year.”

“Mrrrp?”

That stern expression wavered and finally Edge sighed, crouching down and gently running a hand over Nugget’s back. “You have two minutes,” he told her. “And you can stay out of the pen while I am working, but after that, you need to go back in, do you understand?”

Edge seemed to take her happy clucks as agreement. He settled down to sit on the grass, stretching out his splinted leg with a groan. Stretch leaned against the closed door and watched him for a moment, a smile playing on his mouth. His big, tough Underfell husband, gently petting an adoring, crooning chicken. If only the Embassy could see him now. 

He gave it another minute before calling out, “that’s telling her, babe. i swear, chickens these days need round the _cluck_ supervision.”

Edge didn’t look up, only scratched Nugget gently under her chin while she closed her eyes in blissful euphoria. “You aren’t funny.”

“baby,” Stretch sighed, shaking his head in dismay. “i keep telling you, i’m not only funny, i’m _clucking_ hilarious. a real _comedi-hen._ ”

Edge rolled his eye lights and was that the faintest hint of a smile curving his mouth, hell yes, it was. “Yes, and I’m one bad mother clucker.”

“now you’re getting it. hate having to _egg-splain_ it all the time.” Stretch walked over and sank down to sit behind Edge with one long leg on either side of him, settling his chin on his shoulder as he snuggled in. “love you, baby. i’ve _fowl-len_ under your spell, no _yolking_ around. love you so much, honestly.” He settled a hand on Edge’s unbound knee, smooth it down his inner thigh. “plus you’ve got a big co—”

“All right,” Edge interrupted, jabbing him lightly with his elbow. “that’s enough.”

“heh. if you say so.” He pressed a kiss against Edge’s cheek bone and lingered there, nuzzling that angular line, “can’t help thinking about it, though, you so close and all.”

Edge only gave Nugget another scratch and said coolly, “I’m sure. You’ll excuse me if I'm distracted by a different little pecker.”

A pause, then Stretch burst out laughing, pressing a harder, messier kiss against his skull, “that was a good one, you shit.”

Edge craned his head around to look at him and that faint, impish smile belonged only to Stretch, no one else. “What’s the matter, love? Out of puns already?”

“nah,” Stretch murmured. He cupped Edge’s face in one hand, thumb stroking the line of his jaw. “but talk is _cheep_.”

"Don't worry," Edge told him hoarsely. Neither of them paid Nugget desolate clucks any mind as he tipped his head up into the kiss, “you can wing it.” 

-fin


	4. Science!

* * *

Ebay could be an incredible thing when it worked as it should.

Edge didn’t generally have much difficulty in dealing with it. After all, he’d spent the first part of his life learning how to handle cheapskates and swindlers, and that was only dealing with his brother. Underfell was a fine teacher in the art of brutal negotiation, a skill Edge brought with him to the Embassy and put to good use. 

Today, however, Ebay brought him something on the more relaxing end of the spectrum. A package filled with old, broken action figures, ready to be cleaned up and repaired, returned to their former glory. A different kind of puzzle to be solved and he was sincerely looking forward to it. 

Not even the fact that he needed to set up on the coffee table dampened his mood, although he did need to take an extra moment to find a way to situate his injured leg comfortably. Some judicious use of pillows solved that, along with one under him to cushion his coccyx from the hard floor, ah, he truly was getting soft. Once he was able spend hours sitting on the hard ground, even sleeping on it when necessary. It seemed those days were past and Red might have a few venom-laced words about it, but frankly, that wasn’t a skill Edge was interest in cultivating any longer. 

There was room in life for being prepared for any eventuality and for keeping from having a sore ass. 

The coffee table wasn’t quite a large enough space and Edge was forced to spread his tools next to him on the floor. He laid out a lint-free cloth across the coffee table and carefully set the action figure he was working on upon it, readying it for plastic surgery. 

Heh. He’d need to remember that one for Stretch. 

The arrangement worked, though it would have been easier if his tools were on the table. One of these days, he needed to set up a workbench, perhaps in the basement alongside Stretch’s laboratory tables, that was where he was right now and—

As if summoned by his thoughts, the basement door suddenly burst open and through it came Stretch along with an alarmingly acrid smell. He was wearing a pair of oversize goggles, a protective apron, and a pair of heavy-duty rubber gloves that went all the way up to his elbows, giving him the appearance of a deranged mortician or perhaps Doctor Frankenstein in his post ‘building a creature’ phase.

“absolutely nothing to worry about, no problems here, i’ve got it all under control!” Stretch said brightly, even as he heaved the fire extinguisher out of the closet, trundling back to the basement door with it. “it’s just a precaution, no need to panic! the overheads got it all, vents at a hundred percent, babe, promise!”

He disappeared back through the door and into the faint wisp of smoke that was starting to gather at the top step, before Edge could even say that worry and panic were both looking like very viable options and under control not nearly as much. The door slammed behind Stretch and left Edge sitting alone. 

The entire exchange took perhaps thirty seconds. 

Edge stared at the closed door. He looked back down at the much-abused action figure spread out on the towel, awaiting his care, his much safer form of mad science that only required a few small screwdrivers and a paintbrush.

Then he sighed and struggled to his feet, limping to the kitchen to fetch a fire extinguisher of his own. 

As Stretch often said, science waited for no one. In Edge’s experience, neither did flames, but the coffee table would. 

And when he did end up getting his own workbench, smart money was on keeping it upstairs. 

-finis


	5. Ridiculous

* * *

It was ridiculous for Edge to be restless whenever Stretch went into Ebott these days and he knew it. Absolutely ridiculous. His husband went into town often, several times a week in fact, and had for years now. 

To the Beanery to spend some time with two of his favorite kind of companions, disgustingly sugary coffee and friendly baristas. To the bookstore, where Jeff no longer worked but Thomas still did, and the old Human still had Edge’s email address from the first time Edge contacted him as a representative of the Embassy to verify his business was Monster-friendly and to inquire if he would be willing to display an official logo stating it as such. That was before he and Stretch were involved; Edge learned some time later that Stretch frequented the place and if he called for a more extensive background check after he did, not a single member of the Security team question him about it, although his brother did radiated a sort of smug approval that Edge refused to acknowledge. Thomas still emailed him occasionally, mostly around holidays with gift suggestions and once with information about a former employee of his that showed worrying tendencies towards prejudice against Monsters. He was an ally of the kind Edge preferred, friendly and useful.

Stretch also went to thrift stores in search of revolting finds to sneak into their home and to the small store by the University that sold laboratory supplies, ventured everywhere, anywhere, by way of the bus route, and aside from one ~~attack~~ incident, Stretch always returned home to him. 

Absolutely ridiculous to be fretting about him now simply because Edge was at home rather than at work, with nothing to think about except that his husband was out there in the world where unfriendly Humans existed and Edge wouldn’t even be able to go to him if Stretch needed help, nevermind that he could call an entire Security team to him if necessary or that fact that most Humans were not only friendly but often fond of Stretch and easy laughter, along with his social media accounts. The lingering ache in Edge's leg was a reminder than most was not all and every week he was sent accounting of any incidents within the city involving Monsters. He knew all too well what could happen and the what if's and could be's were buzzing around his skull like angry bees. 

Edge was reading a page in his book for perhaps the third time without the faintest idea what it said when the front door opened and Stretch walked in. All six feet plus of him, wearing one of the sweatshirts Edge gave him for Gyftmas last year, the one with an orange body and black arms, discreetly chosen to be slightly more fitted than he normally wore. There were two large cups from the Beanery in his hands, one half drunk, and a collection of bags hanging from his arm. 

He managed to drop the bags in a messy pile by the front door without spilling either, toeing off his shoes and making a beeline to Edge to offer him the filled cup. Edge took it wordlessly, the cold sides damp with condensation and the ice dwindled from the long bus ride. 

“hey, babe,” Stretch leaned down to give him a light kiss. “miss me?”

Then he let out a startled squeak as Edge pulled him down into his lap. A small wave of iced coffee splashed over his fingers as Stretch struggled not to spill it, dripping down on Edge’s trousers and he didn’t care, didn’t care that his husband was sitting on the book he’d been reading, crinkling the pages, didn’t care about anything but pulling his love closer to take a better kiss. When he finally drew away, Stretch looked dazedly pleased if a little confused. 

“Yes,” Edge admitted quietly. “I did.” 

That confusion softened, a smile lighting his pretty face and Stretch snuggled in closer, both their coffee cups carelessly set on the side table as Edge chose holding his husband close over the temptation of caffeine for the moment. 

Perhaps it was Stretch’s understanding of physics coupled with his ability to teleport that made it easier for him to fold his tall, slender form so comfortably into Edge’s lap. He sighed contentedly and squirmed briefly, somehow finding a way to get even closer. “don’t need to miss me anymore, baby, i’m right here.”

“You are,” Edge murmured. Right here, safe in his arms, and those lingering, ridiculous worries evaporated under the warmth of his husband’s embrace. 

They could stay like this, he thought, for a little while yet. 

-fin


	6. Chores

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gets a little spicy, but nothing too adult!

* * *

Stretch generally kept up with most of the daily chores over the course of the week when Edge was at work. Not that Edge ever specifically asked for Stretch to do so; his assumption when he first asked Stretch to move in with him was honestly that it would be similar circumstances as living with his brother, taking on extra laundry and various trash removal. Even then he’d loved Stretch enough to willingly take on that burden and it was with no little shame that Edge learned very quickly that his assumptions were not only wrong but completely the opposite. 

There was no question that Stretch’s housework wasn’t up to Edge’s exacting standards, but then, few would be. That he did it at all was welcome and humbling as he made the bed each morning, washing the breakfast dishes by hand, even taking care of what laundry he could, leaving aside anything that needed dry cleaning. 

Once, Stretch admitted sheepishly that he’d learned very quickly to check labels when he accidentally put one of Blue’s wool sweaters in the dryer. 

“should’ve kept it,” Stretch had said philosophically. “by the time i took it out, it would have fit one of the chickens.” 

On Saturdays, Edge still did his own cleaning, following a mental list of things that needed done. for his own peace of mind. Part of him always wanted to apologize, to explain that it wasn’t that he didn’t think Stretch did a good job, but the one time he’d tried, Stretch only kissed him quiet. 

“babe, you don’t need to explain,” Stretch told him, gently. “i get it. do what you need to do, okay?”

There were times that the word love was inadequate to describe his feelings for Stretch. 

Like today. Edge finished scrubbing the shower stall and was heading back downstairs when he heard Stretch moving around in the bedroom. He looked in, absently thinking of asking what he was thinking about for dinner but he was barely inside the door when he froze. 

What Stretch was doing was folding towels, but it wasn’t the chore that had Edge’s attention. 

Stretch was wearing a set of oversized headphones and Edge distantly made a mental note to double check that he was not wearing that particular set on the bus, because the noise dampening effect seemed entirely too effective. That thought couldn’t hold his attention for long, not when his eye lights were firmly resting on Stretch’s hips. 

For someone who had a unique ability to trip over his feet at any given time, Stretch could certainly dance when he wanted to. Edge leaned against the doorjamb, watching the sway of his husband’s pelvis with hooded sockets as Stretch gyrated to whatever song he was listening to, towels folded along with the beat. 

He was humming along almost absently, Stretch had a lovely singing voice, but that didn’t catch Edge’s interest, not with the glimpses of pale, smooth bone winking out from beneath the hem of his sweatshirt every time he moved. That was, until Edge heard the lyrics.

“…sticks and stones may break my bones, but chains and whips excite me…” All sung throatily in Stretch’s deep, smoky voice and the sudden surge of heat that quickly gathered at Edge’s pelvis might have embarrassed him if Stretch hadn’t turned at just that moment and caught sight of him, startling so badly the towels in his hands were flung into the air, falling to the floor in drifts of terrycloth. 

“holy shit!” Stretch blurted out, slumping back to sit on the bed. He yanked off the headset and tossed it on the nightstand, wheezing, “you scared the blue fuck out of me!”

“Did I?” Edge asked silkily. He stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. “Well, we can’t have that.”

There was only time for Stretch’s sockets to widen before Edge caught hold of his soul with a gentle grip of blue magic, pushing him backwards and mussing the rest of the towels. Stretch didn’t seem to care about the loss of the fruits of his labors, wriggling around in the nest of cotton until he was comfortable. 

Edge prowled over to stand over him, drinking in the sight. Halfway on the bed, his long legs braced against the floor with his bare toes already digging into the carpet. His sweatshirt was riding up, revealing tantalizing glimpses of the upper crests of his pelvis and the beginning of the line of his spine. Whatever greedy expression was surely on his face, Stretch only smirked, wriggling again and that sinuous movement was a temptation all its own. His voice was a low, husky purr as he asked, “and what do you think you’re doing?”

A demonstration seemed to be in order and Edge settled between Stretch’s spread legs, catching most of his weight on his elbows as he nestled their pelvises together. “You said I scared the fuck out of you. It’s only fair that I put it back where it belongs.”

Stretch’s laughter caught on a curse as Edge deliberately rolled their hips together, that low swearing breaking into a gasp as his hands scrabbled against the sheets. 

A clean house was well and good, but as Edge leaned in to take his husband’s mouth in an eager kiss, his last coherent thought was that chores could wait. 

-fin


	7. The Code

When it came to grocery shopping, Edge usually did it on his own. Stretch did enjoy some shopping and still occasionally tagged along whenever Edge went to the Farmer’s Market, but when it came to a plain old grocery store, his attention waned quickly. Aisles of baking supplies and paper towels did not hold his interest and the cereal aisle was an exercise in patience as Edge calmly refused to buy a dozen boxes of sugary nightmares simply because Stretch wanted the toy surprise inside. 

After his injury, he was forced to allow Stretch to take over the shopping duties and gave him a very carefully curated list, making sure not to include anything that would be too difficult to take on the bus. His love did an admirable job at following the list precisely and Edge made a point of ignoring the single box of frosted sugary disgustingness with its promise of a decoder ring inside. 

It was still a relief to be able to return to at least a few of his normal tasks and once Edge was more or less back on his feet and able to drive again, he resumed his duty as the family grocer. But he didn’t protest when Stretch tagged along, made no comment on his fidgeting as they made their way slowly through the store and in turn, his love didn’t offer a single complaint at how long they were taking and did not pressure Edge to take one of the motorized carts at the front of the store, although he did give them a longing look as Edge determinedly walked past. 

He managed to keep the trip to only an hour and there was only the beginning ghost of an ache in his leg as they made their way to the registers.

Edge stopped before the entered the line and let out a sigh, “I forgot to pick up tamarind paste.” 

Before he could turn the cart back into the store, Stretch piped up, “i’ll get it, you wait here.” He was gone before Edge could protest or even suggest a brand name. 

Ah, well, he could make do with whatever Stretch found. 

He started to reach for his phone to check his email while he waited when a tug on the back of his shirt caught his attention. Edge craned his head around, absently assuming he’d somehow gotten hooked on a shelf. Instead, he found a Human child looking up at him with rounded eyes. He wasn’t particularly good at judging Human ages; at a guess, he’d say this child was no more than five or six.

“Can I help you?” Edge asked cautiously. 

The child nodded slowly and lisped out, “Are you a ninja?”

“Am I…” Edge trailed off. 

The child nodded earnestly. “ ‘cause you’re wearing all black and ninjas wear black!”

Edge looked down at himself, his t-shirt, gloves, trousers, shoes, even the brace on his leg were all in black. He’d chosen his clothing this morning for comfort more than anything. It seemed that going forward, he might consider adding a splash of color, lest he be mistaken for an assassin anywhere else.

“I see.” No wonder Stretch got along so well with children; they had a very similar thought process. Edge crouched down to the child’s level and told him, “I’m sorry, I’m not a ninja. I don’t believe there are any ninjas in Ebott.”

“Oh.” He sounded terribly disappointed, then, hopefully. “Are you a cyborg?”

“Timothy!” From a nearby aisle, a woman came sweeping up, likely the child’s mother, and her expression was one of utter horror. Edge stood and took a wary step back, but no angry words came, only an embarrassed blurt. “I am so sorry!” She looked down at her unrepentant child and scolded, “Timothy, that is very rude, we’ve talked about this! This gentleman is a Monster, remember the book we read?”

“It’s no trouble,” Edge said, bemused. The child, Timothy, seemed to be attempting to look repentant, and that was a familiar sight, one often seen on Stretch, Red, and Sans on any given day, as a solo act or a trio, depending on circumstances, with Jeff thrown in occasionally as added seasoning. But the mother’s mention of a book piqued his curiosity. “There’s a book about Monsters?”

“Yeah, ‘My Neighbor the Monster’!” Timothy said enthusiastically, then, with lingering hope. “You sure you’re not a cyborg? Cause you got a robot leg.”

“I’m very sure.” Edge said solemnly. “I’m only a Monster, nothing more.” It was on the tip of his tongue to apologize for being such a letdown as the boy deflated, sadly rejoining his mother in the checkout line.

And so when the child happened to glance back at him, Edge summoned a very small bone, glowing blue, letting it twirl briefly above his gloved hand before clenching his fingers and letting it vanish from sight. Timothy’s mouth dropped open, his already huge eyes going saucer wide. Edge held a single long finger to his mouth and the boy nodded, even as his mother jostled him forward to the register. 

“hey, babe, i found it!” Stretch panted as he jogged back, holding up a tube that was twice the size that Edge would have purchased on his own. It seemed he’d have to research a few new recipes this week.

He led the way to the registers and began unloading their cart. “Do you mind if we make a stop at the bookstore on our way home?”

Nothing about that question should have made Stretch look so immediately suspicious, “you’re already pushing your limit on standing.” 

“I’ll be sitting when I’m driving,” Edge told him reassuringly. “And I can sit while you look around.”

That suspicious look eased, but not entirely. “okay, sure. what brought this on?”

“There’s a book I need to find.” And an author, who might very well appreciate an endorsement from the Monster community along with a thank you of the monetary kind, if the book turned out to be one they approved of. 

“uh huh. not going to tell me what?”

“A ninja never reveals his secrets,” Edge told him solemnly. He stepped forward to pay for the groceries, serenely ignoring his husband’s confusion. Stretch would hear the story soon enough and until then, he had a code to adhere to. 

He suspected Timothy would approve. 

-finis-


	8. Got Served

* * *

Edge still couldn’t take a morning run, something he was rather desperately missing, but with his doctor’s permission he was allowed a short walk around the block and not a single step further. 

That turned out to be just as well; by the time Edge returned home from his first attempt, the ache in his leg was crawling all the way up to his hipbone. Difficult as it was, taking it slow was necessary otherwise he’d set his healing back, perhaps permanently. Despite his impatience, there was no way to speed the process and he would simply have to follow the proper route, however long it took. 

He was leaning heavily on his cane as he went back into the house, already planning on ice and rest to counter any possible swelling, just in case. 

The first thing he noticed was the smell of coffee, which meant Stretch was up. Far earlier than usual and Edge could guess at why. His first solo walk since getting back on his feet would have Stretch fretting and if he couldn’t find a way to secretly follow Edge around the neighborhood, sitting up in the kitchen with his phone bracing for Edge to call him was probably his second choice. 

Although the mental picture of Stretch chasing after him as he attempted to hide behind shrubs and streets signs was an amusing one (and hopeful not accurate). 

Since there weren’t any real seating options in the kitchen right then, Edge settled for heading over to the sofa, calling out, “Love?”

Through the door came a muffled, “yeah, be right there!”

Stretch came bursting out moments later with a coffee cup in one hand and a plate in the other. “how was your walk?”

“Painful,” Edge admitted, settling on the sofa with a grimace. He accepted the coffee gratefully. “But I endured.” He looked at the plate curiously. “Is that for me?” 

Since his injury, Stretch had been attempting to cook more often. Only simple meals and his attempts were generally edible, if somewhat messy. 

“yep! breakfast is served!” He set the plate down with a flourish and Edge actually got as far as picking up the fork before he got a good look at the plate. 

He should have known. Stretch’s smile was classified not under elation at a job well done, but as the type of glee that came when he was trying to be funny. 

Edge stared at the contents of his plate silently, stared a little longer, then looked up at Stretch. Whose grin widened, his eye lights sparkling as he asked politely, “problem?”

“What is this supposed to be?” The food was familiar as pancakes, the shape, decidedly not. Nestled golden-brown across the plate with loving care in a pool of syrup streaked with melted butter, was a stack of penises. Penises? Peni? Edge wasn’t sure about the correct pluralization and did not care to learn. 

“what’s the matter, babe, don’t like pancocks for breakfast?” Stretch asked gleefully. It took all of Edge’s self-control not to smile, not so much at his vulgar breakfast but at his husband’s shining delight. 

He looked back at his plate, nudging one with his fork. The whipped cream trailing from the tip was a nice touch. “I think your proportions are off.”

Stretch shrugged. “sorry, babe, i was going by memory, and the batter spreads while it cooks. might be a little more hung than you’re used to looking down on.”

Well, that was uncalled for. Edge glared at him and jammed his fork firmly into one of the ‘pancocks’, keeping direct eye contact with Stretch as he lifted the entire dripping thing to his mouth and forcefully bit off the tip.

Stretch winced, his hands twitching reflexively down to crotch level, “ouch, easy there.”

“What’s the matter?” Edge took another slow, deliberate bite, sharp teeth easily shearing through the spongy cake. “Don’t you want me to enjoy my breakfast?”

Stretch was looking faintly squeamish and regrets were surely had, but his grin was wry. “you know what, think maybe i’ll leave you to it and go get my own.”

Edge licked his teeth, “Are you sure? You always say you like how I look with a cock in my mouth.”

“yeah, but there’s usually less chewing when i see it. back in a mo’”

He fled back into the kitchen and Edge chuckled softly to himself as he took another bite. 

-fin


	9. Bolt

* * *

Edge woke up alone in their bed to the sound of rain thrumming against the roof alongside the rumble of thunder. 

The empty sheets next to him were a mystery to be solved and he climbed out of bed. Slipped on his robe and ventured downstairs in search of wayward husbands. 

The lights in the living room were off as they should be, but the room was far from dark. The curtains were pushed back from the picture window and flashes of lightning illuminated the room, outlining the furniture in a brief, eerie glow. One of the chairs was pushed up close to the window and sitting in it was Stretch, wrapped up in a blanket, his pale eye lights another point of illumination in the darkened room.

The sudden crack of thunder was deafening, the room trembled with the force. Stretch didn’t flinch, still looking out into the storm as another flurry of blinding, jagged lights filled the sky. 

Edge stood at the base of the stairs, watching him watch the storm.

He knew Stretch hated the grey, drizzly days that interrupted any outdoor fun, be it peculiar experiments with the neighborhood children or simply a nap out in the fresh spring air, but a thunderstorm was a weather pattern of a different color. 

The flashes from the sky cast light strangely across Stretch’s face, gave it unknown shadows and showing exquisite detail that Edge never saw in the light of day. He seemed fae, exotic, impossible to be the same person who was sleeping next to him earlier that night and if he could, this person would run out into the storm, arms raised to the sky, letting the cold rain wash over him despite the lightning flashing and thunder crashing overhead.

“Love?” Edge’s voice seemed too loud, garish in a hush only broken by thunderclaps. For a moment, this seemed no more than dreamstuff and if Edge went back upstairs, he’d discover himself still in bed, asleep. 

Then lightning faded out and when the person in the chair turned to him, it was only Stretch, his eye lights bright in the dimness, filled with a familiar electric excitement. 

“hey, babe,” Stretch called softly. He lifted the corner of his blanket, an invitation into that private little world. Edge never hesitated, slipped beneath the soft fabric and the two of them crowded into the chair, limbs tangled as they curled up together. Somehow, Edge was mostly in Stretch’s lap for once, with a pointy chin digging into the top of his head. He could feel the peculiar vibration of Stretch’s voice through his skull, “i never did like waterfall in the underground much. it was too much of a tease, a bad copy of being on the surface. pretend rain, pretend stars. the real stuff is a lot better.”

Electricity tore across the sky again, the sudden burst of light briefly revealing the torrent of icy rain and then lapsed into the grumbling roll of thunder. 

“It is,” Edge agreed, softly, “much better.” He settled back against Stretch, closing his sockets as he listened to the storm. Beneath the blanket it was decadently warm and there was no dream here, no pretending, only the reality of being wrapped in his husband’s arms. 

-fin


	10. Coming In Second

* * *

"babe,” Stretch said earnestly, “i'd like to take this moment to say that i love you more than anything in the world. in the solar system, the galaxy, the--"

Edge held up a hand and Stretch fell silent. "Before you go into any more astronomical detail, I'd like an explanation."

The expression that crossed Stretch’s face was easiest described as complicated. He rubbed a hand over his skull, bone scraping lightly against bone as he visibly chose and discarded several options before settling on what Edge could only hope was honesty. "um. well. see, you love those bath bomb things.”

"I do and I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

"right, and you shouldn’t be!" Stretch agreed, a touch too brightly. "ain't no reason for shame when it comes to the importance of self-care. and they always advertise they have tons of bubbles, except they’re never as bubbly as they say they are and the bubbles never last as long as you want them to, yeah? then your bath is just a lukewarm puddle of sadness and no one wants to wash in sadness!”

Edge gestured impatiently. "That’s a matter of opinion, but go on.”

“well. so. i…uh…i fixed it.”

“You fixed it,” Edge repeated slowly, rolling the words across his tongue. He eyed the bathroom doorway in front of them, waving a hand at the door. “Tell me, in what way should this be considered fixed?"

Blue magic was meant as a way of using gravity against an attacker. It was not supposed to be used to hold back a solid wall of bubbles filling the room and yet, that was what Edge was doing, extending his power outward and watching in a sort of grim fascination as white suds frothed against the magical barrier from the tile floor nearly to the ceiling. 

"it is! sort of. i mean, the theory was sound, bigger bubbles, better staying power, it did…kind of…work.” Stretch said, his voice getting weaker with every word until it was only a wisp of sound. His eye lights slid away from Edge's to where his bare feet shuffled against the floor, miserably downcast. 

Edge sighed and shook his head. "You do know what this means, don't you."

"yeah, but don’t worry, i'm gonna be spending all night cle--hey!" Stretch yelped as his soul tinged blue, lifting him off his feet and dragging him gently forward to push him unceremoniously through the shielded doorway and into the glistening froth of bubbles. The foam swallowed him completely and his sudden laughter was garbled, swallowed in suds as he called, "i think i saw something like this in a movie once!"

"I don't recommend trying to record this," Edge called back. He took the time to strip off his jacket to spare the leather before he took a deep breath to brace himself, then strode forward to dive in.

The experiment might be a failure, but when a waterfall of bubbles began pouring out the window to coat the side of the house and ooze across the lawn, the neighbors only shook their heads and added a picture to neighborhood blog page. 

An excellent effort, they all agreed. It wasn’t quite good enough to beat the competing picture from Papyrus’s popcorn accident, but there was nothing wrong with second place. 

-fin-


	11. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All small towns aren't created equal.

* * *

Jeff hadn’t been living in New New Home very long, only a couple months and he'd learned a few things since then. For one, the Monster community wasn’t very large and New New Home couldn’t be properly called a city. It was more of a town and a small one at that.

He’d grown up in a small town, where everybody knew everyone, including all their personal business, and when he’d moved to Ebott for college, Jeff had been pretty sure that was exactly the kind of life he didn’t want to have again. Funny how it turned out that the town wasn’t the actual problem, only the people living in it. 

In New New Home, he could take a walk down the street and know that everyone he saw would smile and wave. People still knew him by name but absolutely none of them would be on the phone in moments, vindictively eager to blab to his parents about what they’d seen him doing or where he went or who he was with, and they could couch the words with all the false concern in the world. The truth of it was they were hurrying to share malicious gossip before anyone else could and waiting for the inevitable fallout. 

Not that there weren’t plenty of wagging tongues in the Monster community, heck, Blue was a champion at it, but somehow, it was different. His tidbits were always wrapped in fondness and if he mentioned that so-and-so started dating whose-their-face, it was always with the greatest hope that the date went well and that a second would follow, and if his worries for Stretch might be over the top, well, he kept it mostly to himself. 

Jeff never knew before coming here that gossip could be kind. 

The Bun Bakery was within walking distance of their house and it was an uncommonly warm day for spring, sunny and bright. Perfect for a leisurely stroll. Edge’s baking would always be Jeff’s favorite, but he guiltily admitted that the Bun Bakery was pretty damn close second. Plus, Edge didn’t make the little cinnamon bunny bites they did, always fresh and warm right from the oven, the sugar and cake almost melting away on his tongue. 

The older Bun lady behind that counter didn’t even ask Jeff for his order anymore, already scooping the treats into a paper bag the second the doorbell jangled as he stepped inside. 

Today, though, he decided to change it up. “Can I get two bags this time?”

“Hungry, are we?” Gemma laughed, shaking out another small bag. Her long ears were folded down underneath a mesh hairnet. The Bun family was huge, and Jeff was still getting the hang of it, but he was pretty sure this was Edge’s assistant Janice’s cousin. Pretty sure. 

“I could probably eat ten bags before I got sick of them, but I’m trying to keep my girlish figure,” Jeff said wryly. “This one is for a friend.”

A minute to swipe his card and Jeff was back outside in the fresh air, heading back the way he came as he started in on his own bag of goodies.

Edge and Stretch lived on the same road as Blue did, all Jeff needed to do was hang a right instead of a left at the intersection. The garage door was open and he could see the vague outline of Edge inside. He was sitting on the concrete floor next to his motorcycle, his bad leg stretched out in front of him, all velcro-ded into that knee-high boot that acted as a sort of splint. 

“Good morning, Jeff.” To Jeff’s not at all surprise, Edge didn’t even look up from what he was working on. Dark fluid was running from the engine into a shallow pan on the ground. 

"Hiya. Just stopping by, thought I'd bring Stretch a treat." He held up a bag of cinnamon bunny bites, his own empty one crumpled guiltily into his fist.

It really was fascinating to watch Edge whenever someone mentioned Stretch. Edge always looked sort of fierce, his skull was sharply angular where the others were more rounded. His visible teeth were jagged and sharp, the crack through his socket adding an aura of danger, and his bearing tended towards aloof on a good day. He made Jeff sort of think of a lion, standing alone on the savanna, fierce and proud.

But one mention of Stretch and his entire expression sort of…softened. Not literally, but Jeff couldn’t think of a better way to describe it. His intense crimson eye lights went fuzzy at the edges, the corners of his mouth turned up in an almost smile. Maybe people who didn’t know him couldn’t tell, but to Jeff’s eye it was practically a physical statement of adoration. It never lasted long, vanished back under the stoic pretty quickly, but Jeff knew it was there, lurking under the surface.

“I’m sure he’d appreciate that, he never turns down sugar,” Edge said dryly. “He was napping, last I saw, you can knock on the door and see if he’s awake.”

“I’ll text him in a minute,” Jeff decided. He hunkered down, instead, peering at the motorcycle curiously, “What are you doing?”

“Maintenance.” Edge wiped away a trickle of sweat from his forehead with the back of his gloved hand where it wasn’t smeared with grease. “I won’t be able to ride it anytime soon, but the engine still needs maintained. Hand me the socket wrench?”

Jeff hesitated, not wanting to admit he didn’t have half a clue what a socket wrench was. Edge only pointed patiently, and Jeff handed it over. He watched as Edge used it expertly, and his mouth, like it so often did, decided to run off without him. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“You can ask.” The implication being that Edge might not answer. “Now the new filter.”

Jeff handed over the rounded, ribbed thing Edge pointed out. “When did you know you were in love with Stretch?"

At first, he didn't think Edge was going to answer. His hands kept moving, screwing in the new filter, then picking up a funnel to add fresh oil to the tank.

"That's a difficult question," he said at last. “You know I love him. I can say that now. When we first started dating, it wasn't so easy.” His eye lights flicked briefly to Jeff. “Being with Stretch is like not knowing I was colorblind my entire life and then looking into the sky after a storm to suddenly see a rainbow.” That softness went over his face again and his voice dropped until Jeff had to strain to hear. “Colors I never knew existed until I knew him.”

Not really an answer to the question, but Jeff let it go. That was a better answer to an unasked question, anyway.

“Done,” Edge said decisively. He stripped off his dirty gloves and set them with the pile of oily rags. “All right, then, let’s go in and wake up my husband, shall we?”

Jeff stood and automatically held out a hand to help Edge up. He faltered at the last second and almost drew it back; metaphors aside, he didn’t know much about proud lions on the savanna, but he knew that Edge bristled over showing even minor weaknesses and he wasn’t big on touching either if it wasn’t Stretch doing the feeling.

Edge never hesitated, setting his bare hand firmly into Jeff’s. The bones of his hands were cooler than Stretch’s, rough with scars, the sharpened tips didn’t so much as graze Jeff’s skin. He let go without undue haste when he was back on his feet and if Edge realized the import of that one small action to Jeff, it didn’t show. He only grabbed his cane and headed towards the door. “Are you staying for lunch?”

“Um…yeah,” Jeff said weakly, then stronger, “Yeah, sure. What are we having?”

He followed Edge into the house, into the living room where Stretch was starting to stir on the sofa and as predicted, his sleepy smile turned to pure delight when Jeff handed over the bag of treats even as Edge scolded him affectionately not to ruin his appetite for lunch. 

A different small town, a different family, and for the first moment in an achingly long time, Jeff felt like he was home. 

-finis-


	12. Ordinary Days

* * *

There wasn’t anything special about the day. Nothing that stood out as remarkable, nothing Stretch could put a finger on later and say, yep, this was it. This was what set my husband off on a journey of profound introspection.

Nope, it was just a normal day. Stretch woke up to the rich smell of coffee already brewing, following his non-existent nose down the stairs to the kitchen where Edge was making French toast. He was sitting at the stove on one of the high bar stools to keep from spending too long on his leg like a good boy and he looked up when Stretch sauntered in, offering him a faint smile. Stretch sat with him on the other stool since they hadn’t gotten a new dining table set yet and they talked about nothing much over the sizzle of egg-soaked bread turning golden brown in a hot pan. 

They washed the dishes together after, Edge scrubbing and Stretch drying, then they went their separate ways for a while. Stretch downstairs to work on a couple of his experiments, scribbling furious notes as he checked different reactions, absently smiling at Edge whenever he passed by on his way to and from the laundry room, a basket in his hands in either direction. 

Lunchtime came and again, they ate together, rice bowls with black beans and green goddess salad dressing and Stretch made a joke about all of Edge’s cooking being food for the gods. More dishes, more time apart. A dinner made of repurposed leftovers since Edge was incapable of letting anything go to waste and it didn’t matter because it was delicious, anyway. After dinner, Edge loaded the dishwasher and since the weather was nice, they took a nice, easy walk, one of Edge’s hands on his cane and his other in Stretch’s, gloved fingers gently clasping his own. Kids were playing in the last sunshine of the day, their shouts and laughter tinting the air and when Stretch started humming absently, the theme to some old James Bond movie, Edge started humming too, his gravelly voice hesitant and only loud enough for Stretch to hear and his soul was so full of love he thought it would explode like an overstuffed pinata, all hearts and candy and happiness. 

That night, they sat together on the sofa, well, Stretch sprawled and Edge sat, his phone on one knee and Stretch’s head on the other. His hands alternated between scrolling through emails and gently petting the rounded curve of Stretch’s skull, the softness of his gloves against smooth bone as they watched the latest round of Masterchef. 

When they went to bed, they slide between the freshly washed sheets together and as they made love, Stretch breathed in the scent of laundry detergent and sex and Edge. They curled up together afterward, sweat-damp and sated, Stretch snuggling in with his head on Edge’s sternum, listening to the slowing pulse of his husband’s soul.

Fingertips wandered over Stretch’s cervical vertebra and he could feel the rumble of Edge’s voice as he said, “This isn’t what I dreamed of when I was a child, this life.”

“no?” Drowsiness was trying to pull Stretch down with sleep-drenched fingers, but something in Edge’s tone made him resist. 

“No.” Softly, a confession, “My dreams were always grand when I was young. I would be in the Royal Guard. I would capture a Human and save us all. As a child, I dreamed of being a hero. I never once pictured keeping house on the surface with someone like you, working at a desk in an office with Monsters and Humans.”

“not even once?” It was mostly teasing, partly curious, and maybe a pinch of hurt sprinkled on top.

The hand on his back slipped up to cup his skull, stroking in something like gentle reassurance, “No. I think perhaps I never understood happiness, then, or all the things that I thought would bring it. I thought that great deeds would bring me happiness. It was foolish, really. Childish whims."

Geez, that was a little harsh considering that Edge didn’t exactly grow up in a place where all great dreams came true. Stretch tried to squirm out of his arms to look Edge right in the face when he told him so, but Edge refused to let him go and, damn, it was irritating that anyone could hold on so gently but still like steel bands. His baby was so metal, (heh) but that one Stretch kept to himself. Eventually, Stretch gave up, settling back grudgingly into Edge's embrace. Tempting as it was to say Edge was always _his_ hero, that was a little too obvious and trite, too easy to scoff away. "it wasn't foolish, babe, you were only a kid. you didn’t even know what other options were out there, yet."

“And now I am an adult and I know better." Edge laid his cheek bone against the top of Stretch's skull, inhaling deeply, then let out with a sigh, "You make me happy."

The sudden swell of near tears in Stretch’s throat refused to be swallowed away. He managed to say around that thickness, teasingly, "you're so that sure this isn't all a really good dream?" 

"Not possible," Edge said decisively. 

"yeah? how you figure?"

"Because my imagination could not possibly come up with anything as wonderful as you.”

Okay, this was too much, forget pinatas, his soul was going to pop like an overinflated balloon. This time Stretch did squirm free, folding his arms on Edge’s chest and resting his chin on them as he said admiringly, "you are a smooth one, babe."

Edge only gazed back at him, his eye lights soft, “Only for you.”

Uh huh, this needed to stop, or his soul going to melt like a Hershey bar in a hot car and mess up the nice clean sheets more than they already had. "can't say i had any grandiose ideas when i was a kid, but. the being happy thing? that feeling is completely mutual.” 

Edge smiled, that soft, secret smile that only belong to Stretch, and he shifted, rolling them over. His mouth was warm against Stretch’s, pouring that mutual happiness back into each other through a kiss. Those kisses quickly grew drowsy and they settled in together, Stretch already verging on sleep. 

Yeah, the day was nothing special, nothing extraordinary, and maybe Edge dreamed of grandness back when he was a kid, but for him? This was what Stretch had always wanted. Back in the bad, old days in Underswap, all he ever wanted was something like this. 

His perfectly ordinary day. 

-finis-


	13. No Hard Felines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans knew living with Red wasn't going to be all shits and giggles, but he wasn't expecting this flavor of bullshit on the menu.

* * *

Despite his bro’s reassurances that Sans was making the right move, (and he still wasn’t convinced, leaving Paps while he was still wobbly on wheels after that attack was sticking in his craw like a fishbone on steroids) Sans still knew there were gonna be, eh, challenges was a good a word as any and sounded better than bitchfest.

What he hadn’t figured on was an ongoing war with a fucking cat over a sofa.

Sans didn’t know a whole lot about cats. His experience was limited to Cat Monsters and Temmies, all of whom could be expected to act reasonably decent and not shred a t-shirt just as it was getting into the comfortably overworn stage where even washing with Tide didn’t get out all the stink. 

Damn cat, Sans really liked that shirt and if he wore in now, all he’d need was leather pants and some glitter eyeshadow and he could join a punk band. 

Socks vanished wholesale before anyone even had a chance to put down a sticky note. Someday, somewhere, a sock graveyard would be found, and the haunting stench would follow whoeverso discovered it to the end of their days. 

Anyway. 

Sans didn’t know shit about cats, but what he did know was that he was already sick of living with the cat and hadn’t even properly moved in yet.

Dogs at least could be put on a chain and sent outside to sleep for a while. Red didn’t let Ozzy out, said he was all indoor cat, all the time, which was probably for the best because the little shit would probably decimate the local bird population overnight. Red said he was probably a mixed breed and Sans agreed with that assessment; half cougar, half pain in his tailbone. That little kitten grew to the size of a small Saint Bernard and didn’t even have the grace to wear that little collar with booze barrel on it. Being able to take a slug or two anytime he was around the little shit would be about the only thing to endear Sans to it. 

What did not endear him was the fucking brat stalking him every time he walked around the house. It would wait, staring out from the shadows until Sans let his guard down by some minuscule fraction and then it would lunge out and try to take a chunk out of his ankle before scrambling off to the next stalking checkpoint. It was a good thing his HP took an upward hike when they came to the surface because dusting by ankle attack was exactly the kind of humiliating death Sans would expect the universe to have out for him. 

If it wasn’t hiding, it was on the sofa, busy taking up as much sitting room as possible and that left them here, the two of them staring at each other like gunslingers in the old west, waiting to see who drew first and all Sans was armed with was a pillow.

Sure, Sans could go sleep upstairs in the bed. Hell, he could sleep on the floor if he wasn’t worried about not being able to peel himself off of the carpet later. But it was the principle of the thing. He was moving in, you gotta start as you intend to go on, and Sans intended to go on sleeping on the sofa whenever it took his fancy. Starting now.

“okay, look, cat,” Sans said. He held up his pillow, his only line of defense. “i’m gonna lay down on this side of the sofa. you stay on that side and things’ll go fine, you get me?”

The cat didn’t say anything, which was fine because if he’d started singing ‘hello my baby’, Sans was moving back in with Paps. Instead, it stared at him with those all-seeing eyes, ugh, no wonder Stretch hated cats. Sans was more used to being on the other side of that look and that’s where he preferred to stay, thanks. 

If Ozzy was waiting for him to blink first, he was going to be sitting there until reveille because if there was one thing that skeletons didn’t technically have to do, it was blink. Sans moved slowly, first setting his pillow against the sofa arm and then easing onto the seat cushion. He lay back, still meeting that unblinking stare, waiting to see if his socks were gonna take the punishment for his hubris.

Ozzy yawned, showing a row of teeth that were remarkably similar to their owner. He blinked slowly, once, twice, and didn’t move an inch. 

Sans relaxed, leaning back into the pillow and muttered, “just don’t murder me in my sleep.”

He was about halfway down the path into the land of nod when an unexpected weight in his lap jostled him back awake. Sans opened his sockets and looked down in disbelief at the cat loaf settled right on top of his femurs. Loaf, hell, the damn thing was the size of a furry watermelon, eyes closed and rustling up what Sans guessed might qualify as a rusty purr. Or an electronic can opener freshly liberated from the dump, either worked.

“okay, i know it looks like i’m melding into the sofa, but i’m not actually part of it. get off.” Ozzy didn’t move, still purring along. “c’mon, move, you furry brick!”

That purr rose threateningly in volume to something right below a chainsaw and Sans was trying to decide what finger he was willing to lose to push the damn thing off of him when from behind came. “see, you two are getting along just swell.”

He craned his neck enough to see Red leaning against the doorjamb leading to the would-be kitchen, if it ever got anything resembling appliances. Coulda, shoulda, woulda, whatever, Paps and Edge always had plenty of goods in the fridge and it tasted a lot better than whatever concoction either of them tried to rustle up.

“oh, yeah, we’re old pals,” Sans drawled irritably, “don’t worry, pretty sure all the scratches’ll heal over eventually and probably won’t leave too many scars.”

“good, i hate to mess up that pretty face. g’wan, oz, you’re in my seat.” Red wandered over to shove the cat off and instead of taking off a limb, it only let out an offended meow and went to loom like a resentful gargoyle on the recliner. Red took his spot and he was only a little lighter but a helluva lot more welcome to be straddling Sans’s femurs. Red squirmed, grinding their pelvises together until Sans grabbed his hips and stilled him, clenching his teeth together around a groan.

“wellie well well,” Red murmured. His crimson eye lights gleamed mellowly, his grin wide, and the way he ran his thumb lightly along the line of Sans's collar dragged a shiver up from the depths of his soul. Somebody was in a good mood. How kind of him to share it. “feels like you might be a lil’ happy ta see me.”

“it’s a pencil in my pocket.”

“yeah, feels about the right size for it.”

Whatever retort Sans might’ve come up for that was muffled under Red’s mouth against his own and those razor teeth of Red’s never left behind too many scars, either. 

Welp, so much for the nap. Sans did crack open one socket to look around even as Red’s hands were starting to test the theory of just what kind of pencil Sans was smuggling. The cat was pointedly not looking at them and Sans smirked against Red’s mouth. 

Take that, you furry little interloper, put a point on Sans’s side of the scoreboard.

Then he bit off a yelp as a clawed finger ran deliberately down his femur, hard enough to draw a beaded line of marrow. He shifted his glare to Red, who cooed out, “aw, do i have your attention now?” 

“undivided and multiplied, if you wanna do the math.”

“i leave the math to stretch, now are you gonna get in the game?”

“yeah, let me get the ball.” It was Red’s turn to yelp as Sans cupped a hand firmly between his legs. Pretty soon Sans was forgetting all about the cat, because this, yeah, hell yeah, this was why moving in was the right idea. 

Besides, the battle for the sofa always worked better when it was two against one, and Sans wanted Red against him for a long damn time. 

-finis-


	14. Out of Sight

* * *

There was a half-eaten sandwich on the kitchen counter.

Edge noticed it the moment he walked in, absent thoughts of what was available in the refrigerator for dinner skidding to a halt. He looked at the plate and the sandwich on it: peanut butter and bananas on toasted whole wheat bread. The remaining portion wasn’t cut, no, it looked as if three or four bites had been taken and the remains left on the plate. Along with it was a glass of milk, again, half-finished, and the glass was no longer cold but still cool to the touch. 

He picked up plate and glass, and went out into the living room. The television was on and there was a book on the coffee table, opened and laying face down and the sight made the insides of Edge’s sockets itch to see it. He set down the plate and glass then picked up the book—the title was a nearly incomprehensible clutter of about scientific theory—and pulled a bookmark out of one of the end tables. Bright and colorful, it declared that the most important rule of chemistry was not to lick the spoon. 

Edge tucked the bookmark neatly in between the pages and set it back on the table, then turned off the television before picking up the plate and glass again to resume his quest.

Upstairs, he found a basket of laundry in the process of being folded. Edge preferred all his shirts to be hung up but Stretch liked to fold his using an unwieldy plastic contraption he’d gotten online. He couldn’t argue with the results, it did fold every shirt to the exact same size and guaranteed every shirt would have sharp creases from being folded. His shirts were already on hangers and set to the side. Edge left them where they were, and he and the sandwich descended the stairs again. 

And again, down into the basement.

The corner that had been commandeered for Stretch’s lab work was closed off with some kind of protective fabric that hung around it like curtains. The area was freshly painted from recent unintentional damage from smoke and fire extinguisher foam. Since then, Stretch installed a series of fire suppression sprinklers that, according to him, would target the fire specifically in order to minimize the mess. 

It would likely be put to the test all too soon. 

In the back corner at his desk was Stretch. A pair of safety goggles were perched precariously on top of his skull where they were perfectly useless and he was hunched over a piece of paper, drawing furiously. 

“Struck by inspiration?” Edge asked, lightly. Stretch didn’t even look up when Edge crossed the room to drop a light kiss on top of his head, right next to the goggles.

“yeah,” he said absently. “solar power, right? didn’t exactly get to work with it down in mount doom, but i had this idea—"

He trailed off into vague muttering, pencil scribbling. His love was many things all wrapped into a brilliant package but what he was not was an artist. Surrounded by equations was a picture of what was either a solar powered skateboard or some kind of robotic fish, Edge couldn’t tell. 

He hoped it was the fish, he really did. 

In a mostly cleared spot on the corner of the desk, Edge set the plate and neglected sandwich. “I think you forgot this.”

Another moment of scribbling and Stretch glanced up absently, then again with more interest, “oh, shit, i did, thanks.”

He snatched up the sandwich and crammed half into his mouth in one bite, mumbling around the crumbs, “sorry, babe, i got distracted.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Edge chided. He offered the milk and it was suitable gulped down. “And I know you do, love. It’s all right.”

That seemed to penetrate his creative fog. Stretch swallowed his current mouthful and looked up guiltily. “i’m sorry, babe, i’ll come upstairs in a minute and finish up, i pr—”

Edge leaned down and kissed him, keeping that word unspoken. The salt of the peanut butter did mingle well with the bananas, even if the faint taste was secondhand.

“I said it was all right,” Edge told him softly. “Work on your design and come up when you’re done.”

The relief in his gaze didn’t quite sting and Edge knew it wasn’t for him, but not for the first time, Edge wished he could have a long discussion with the person who planted those doubts in his love’s mind. 

“thanks, babe,” Stretch turned back to his sketches. Edge waited for him to finish his sandwich and drain the glass, then took both with him back upstairs to put in the dishwasher. As he loaded it, he considered the destructive capabilities of a solar-powered skateboard. 

It might be worth ordering knee and elbow pads, he decided, just in case. If the project was a robotic fish, well, Edge was very sure the pads would come in handy on some occasion, anyway.

All Edge had to do was make sure Stretch didn’t forget to wear them and that was a task he was more than willing to undertake, any time at all. 

-finis-


	15. Chilled to the...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snowdin is cold, but there are worse alternatives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a weird one, a scene of Red and Edge back in Underfell when they were kids and still going by Sans and Papyrus.
> 
> Warnings! There are mentions of violence and child neglect, things were bad back in the old, awful days. I don't think it's too graphic, but I wanted to warn.

* * *

Snowdin was new and in some ways better, but it was terribly cold after New Home. 

In the depths of the cave Sans found for them, Papyrus curled up into a tighter ball, as close to fire as he could get without singeing his shoes. The fire left the cave a little smoky and they’d piled up snow and branches around the cave mouth to keep anyone from seeing the light. 

Sans said they wouldn’t be here too long anyway; he had a plan. He always had a plan. Sometimes they even worked. 

The sudden gnawing ache of hunger from his magic was so familiar that Papyrus only winced, stifling a cry. Unheard was unseen, how many times had Sans snarled that to him. He had to be quiet while he waited and even though he shouldn’t, he hoped that Sans brought back something to eat. Anything at all and despite the urgent need of his magic verging on queasiness, he couldn’t help imagining food. Plates of food, tables of it, like they showed in the magazines Sans found sometimes at the dump. The last one held pages of delicately browned casseroles and crusty bread rolls, bowls of buttery peas and mounds of mashed potatoes drenched in gravy. 

Papyrus hadn’t so much as smelled such things, but his mind didn’t care. It conjured up possibilities that he couldn’t crush, even though he knew Sans wasn’t hauling any such thing back with him. His imaginings burst when he heard the crunch of snow outside, and Papyrus hastily conjured an attack, a series of sharpened bones hanging in the air. 

A voice came, low and hoarse through the piled branches and snow, “kookaburra.”

Ridiculous word, but Papyrus relaxed, dismissing the attack. His brother clambered over the barrier and flopped down in front of the fire, satchel and all. 

“fucking long walk,” Sans grumbled, fruitlessly trying to kick melting snow off his boots.

“Like you walked, you shortcutted most of the way,” Papyrus said. His brother only grinned at that, sockets drifting closed. Papyrus crawled over to him and hit his brother with his small fists “Don’t go to sleep! What did you find?”

One eye socket slid open, the one without the crack. The wound that ran through his brother’s other socket was still inflamed, a match to Papyrus’s own. His still ached, a faint throb, but not quite as much as his hunger, nor as the fresh EXP in his soul. 

He didn’t have a choice, Papyrus reminded himself. Sans told him that lots of times, they’d been about to kill Sans, kill them both, and Papyrus couldn’t let them, that's what Sans said. Papyrus didn't remember it very well. They’d both been still dripping marrow when they fled New Home, Sans shortcutting them when he could and dragging Papyrus along when he couldn’t, practically carrying him sometimes even though Papyrus was almost as tall as him now.

The crimson eye light from that uninjured socket gleamed with amusement. “you so sure i found anything, boss?”

Papyrus raised his chin defiantly. “yes, because when you don’t, you tell me to shut up.”

That got him a laugh and Sans sat up, shaking his head. “nah, usually i tell you shut the fuck up, but you’re close. okay, let’s see what i got.” He started digging through the satchel, the contents rustling, “tell ya, kid, pickings ain’t too bad around here, didn’t see anyone else digging through the cans while i was there.”

The first thing Sans handed over was wrapped in foil. Papyrus opened it and his soul cramped, sending a fresh surge of hurt to rattle through him, but Papyrus barely noticed it. It was a hamburger with only a couple of bites out of it. Soft, hungry magic filled his mouth and he started to lift it, ready to dig in and hesitated, setting it back down. He started to tear it in half, struggling to make it equal portions. 

Sans gave him a light smack on the back of the skull. “did i say you needed to share it? quit fucking it up and eat it ‘fore it gets cold.”

Papyrus was too hungry to groan at his brother’s sense of humor. He ate the slightly mangled icy-cold burger in three quick bites, swallowed hard against the lingering nausea. Sometimes when he hadn’t eaten in a few days food almost seemed to make it worse, the numbness of hunger waking with a cry. Papyrus swallowed again, hard, forcing his gorge to stay right where it belonged. If he wasted all that good food vomiting, he wouldn’t need Sans to tell him how stupid it was.

“found somethin’ else.” Sans rummaged in his satchel and pulled out something long with a whisper of cloth. “here.”

He dropped the something heavily into Papyrus’s lap. Papyrus picked it up, cautiously, fingering the soft material. It was red, almost the same shade as his magic, “What’s this?”

“what the fuck’s it look like,” Sans snorted, “it’s a scarf! you’re always bitching about the cold, so put it on!”

Papyrus wound it around his neck. It was long, even wrapped around his neck twice it nearly reached the ground. The ends were torn off rather than sewn, raggedly frayed but the warmth, ah, the warmth was glorious. It seemed to far exceed what simple cloth could offer, he wanted to bury himself in it, wrapped up tight in it like a fabric was hugging him close.

“Thank you.” That was what they said in the books Sans brought him, soggy with dump water but he usually got to read them before Sans sold them for G. Usually.

“yeah, whatever,” Sans brushed it off, settling back next to the fire. “take care of it, don’t come crying to me if you lose it, you hear?”

“Yes, brother.”

“gonna get some shuteye so keep it down,” Sans closed his sockets with a sigh. “got a line on a job, real g this time. if it pans out, we ain’t staying here much longer.”

Papyrus didn’t say anything. Sans was snoring almost from the moment he got the last word out. A faint line of drool ran from his mouth, staining his jaw a smeary pink. 

Papyrus only curled up, burrowing into his scarf, not knowing that some years later the tattered fabric would end up carefully saved in a box and set on the top shelf of the closet in a house he never knew to dream he could own. Another place where he had another name and another life. The fire snapped and crackled, and when it was dark, Papyrus would sneak outside for more firewood, gathering it hastily while he listened for footsteps in the snow or cracking branches. Didn’t get any such warnings in the dirty alleys of New Home. 

Things _were_ better here, Papyrus decided, much better. Snowdin was cold, that was true, but wrapped up cozily in his new scarf with his brother sleeping close by, the chill didn’t seem so quite bad anymore. 

-fin


	16. Pairs

* * *

“hey, check it out!”

Edge looked up from his laptop as Stretch dashed in, all but bubbling with excitement as he came through the door with a package in one hand and the rest of the mail haphazardly clenched in the other 

Usually Edge got the mail despite most of it being for Stretch. His husband got letters from all over the world, from other scientists, from fans on social media. Occasionally those letters were only addressed to ‘Stretch’ or whatever his latest twitter name was. Last time Edge looked it was ‘Albert Spinestein’.

What Stretch did not know was that all his mail went through a special screening before it came to the house. It wasn’t strictly a secret, if Stretch asked, Edge would give him an honest answer, but neither did he bring it up. A lie of omission, certainly, and one that would likely earn him a few nights sleeping alone. 

Foolish, really. If he sat Stretch down and explained his reasons, the likelihood was high that he would be understanding. High, yes, but not a certainty, and if he asked them to stop, Edge would be forced to either do as he was asked or commit an actual deception. 

Easier to not ask and if that were cowardly, Edge would accept the title gladly to keep Stretch safe. 

Like it or not, Stretch was becoming quite the public figure and Edge was not about to allow any deranged person physically hurt him by way of a package or letter. Possible emotional damage was unfortunately unpreventable unless Stretch was informed. Edge wouldn’t allow his mail to be secretly read; there was a fine line between a scan checking for bombs or suspicious powders and an unforgivable invasion of privacy, one that Edge was struggling not to cross. 

The padded envelope in Stretch’s hands was small and plump, the contents seemed soft. Edge set his laptop aside and gave Stretch his full attention, watching as he tore the envelope open with all the elegance of a lion taking down a wildebeest. Bits of yellow paper flew and the packaged contents fell to the floor, the envelope gutted. 

Stretch snatched it back up and held both filled hands out, “i got us matching socks!”

Edge blinked and looked at the socks in question. Two identical bundles, one in each hand and from this distance, the patterns weren’t distinct, but the colors were. Stretch held a rainbow in each fist, bright reds and greens and yellows, was that chickens on the top pair? Edge was very much afraid they were.

Stretch was still chattering on, “i mean, matching clothes is kinda lame, right? not bad!” Stretch added hurriedly, as if Edge were about to furiously argue the merits of couples strolling through town in matching sailor suits, “people can do that if they want. but you don’t really like slogan t-shirt’s, and these were funny!”

As quick as a blink, that excitement faltered into uncertainty, “i mean, if you want to. if you think it’s stupid, we don’t have to. i just thought, no one can really see your socks so it would be our funny secret, and you could be wearing the same socks as me while you were at work and i was at home and no one would ever know—it’s stupid, isn’t it, never mind, i’ll toss them all in my drawer…”

“It’s not stupid, love,” Edge raised his voice to be heard over the disheartened rambling, “I would be more than happy to wear whatever socks you’ve chosen. May I see them?”

For split-second he thought Stretch was going to refuse and shortcut off to stash the socks away. Instead, he shuffled forward and sheepishly dropped a set into Edge’s lap. 

He picked them up, examining the patterns, and they were far worse than he could have dreamed. Wherever Stretch found these socks apparently carried an entire line, without care for whether the chicken came before the egg. A blue pair with red hens scattered around them, another pair that made the wearer appear to have cartoon chicken feet, others with various chicken and egg themes. By far the worst was the pair with a large chicken bent over to expose generous proportions and proclaiming ‘Guess What? Chicken Butt!’ in large letters.

They were nightmares woven of a cotton and nylon blend. 

“see?” Stretch’s enthusiasm was muted, lined with hopefulness. “i thought they were funny, chickens are sort of our thing, right and, okay, yeah, they’re pretty silly, but—”

The rest of the words were smothered beneath Edge’s gentle, hushing kiss. Stretch leaned into it with a sigh, very nearly crawling into Edge’s lap when he drew away. Edge held him back, stripping away the packaging on the socks. He pulled off the pair he was wearing, a sedate, plain black, and slipped on the ‘butt’ pair. 

Horrifying, yes, but worth it for the spark of delighted humor shining in his husband’s eye lights. 

“No pictures,” Edge warned, “you did say this was our secret.”

“promise!” Stretch said, solemnly, drawing an ‘x’ over his sternum with his finger. Then he tore the packaging away from his own set and slipped his matching socks on. 

“Awesome,” Stretch said gleefully. He flopped down on the sofa, settling his skull on Edge’s thigh. He raised one foot high and waggled his toes happily and the chicken’s rear end rippled with them. Edge could only watch with a sort of gruesome fascination. Luckily, Stretch bored of it quickly, rolling over to lay on his side, his legs tucked in so that his feet didn’t dangle over the arm. “thanks, babe.”

Edge wasn’t about to pretend that this was anything else than a favor done out of affection. “You’re welcome, love.”

Stretch snuggled in closer, his voice already taking on a hint of drowsiness. “now if i could only figure out why everything i order with two-day shipping always takes three days to get here. s’weird.”

Edge did not let his gentle stroking so much as hesitate. “I can look into it if you like.” And insist that all packages be screened and delivered to Stretch the day they came through.

“nah, so long as they get here, no big deal. not to me, anyway.” Stretch’s breathing deepened as he drifted off to sleep.

Edge contemplated that for a long moment, then let it go, tucked away into his mental file of ‘better to not ask.’ He went back to his laptop as Stretch napped away, wriggling his own toes inside the socks. 

At least they were comfortable and if it made him the ‘butt’ of a joke, well, he and Stretch could be a matched set. 

-finis-


	17. The Great Outdoors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are two ways to enjoy the outdoors, Stretch's way and the wrong way.

* * *

Thorough testing led Stretch to conclude that there were two ways to truly enjoy the outdoors. 

There was Stretch’s way; lying back in a lounge chair, a cool glass of lemonade on one side with his smokes snuggled up close and his lighter on top of the pack, alongside a pair of sunglasses that did exactly nothing to protect their eye _lights_ from sun _light_ , but were very important for the aesthetic, thank you. Add in a pair of shorts and a tank top that declared you were, ‘Feelin’ Beachy’, and the outdoors was yours. 

Then there was the other way—

“Stretch? Come out front with me?”

Stretch pried open a socket and let his head loll in Edge’s direction. He was wearing shorts and he was a skeleton, and that was about as far down the path to true outdoor enjoyment that Edge ever traveled. The only decoration on his t-shirt was dirt that matched his gardening gloves, and his wide brimmed hat might have an aesthetic, but it was sure as hell on the opposite side of the spectrum as a pair of cool shades, possibly falling off the end down into the category that Undyne lovingly called, ‘nerd’.

Getting him to lounge around in a lawn chair was only likely if Stretch sat on him to keep him there and as tempting as that sounded, the neighbors could only forgive so much.

What Edge did have was a muted sort of excitement and Stretch sighed. Yeah, okay, passion trumped lazy. He heaved himself to his feet to go see what his nerd husband wanted.

They made it through the gate before Stretch asked, “where are we going?”

“Not too loud,” Edge cautioned.

“uh, okay.”

He followed where his baby led up to the front yard, the world’s shortest parade. Over by the side of the house were some bushes with lavender flowers, aptly named in Stretch’s mind as those bushes with lavender flowers. Edge stopped them a few feet away and silently urged Stretch to sit on the grass, following him down.

“All right, now here is the most difficult part.” Edge pulled Stretch back to sit between his legs, wrapping his own long limbs overtop Stretch’s and his arms around him. Caged in bones, hmm, this’d be more fun with some more privacy and a lot less clothes. “You need to be still.”

“I can be still!” Stretch whispered loudly and he did not wriggle when he said it, thank you. Not much, anyway. 

“Of course you can,” Edge said in that tone of voice that said clearly they both knew Edge was humoring him. “This is only a precaution.”

It was hard to stay grumpy when you were tucked into the arms of the person you loved, but Stretch gave it a good college try, managing to whip up a fairly impressive sulk by the time Edge’s mouth brushed lightly against the side of his skull.

Very softly he whispered, “Watch.”

Watch what, Stretch almost asked, seriously, if Edge brought him out her to bond with the greenery, this sulk was going to graduate as valedictorian into a full-fledged pout. Then he heard it, a soft rustling coming from the ‘bushes-of-lavender-flowers.’

He squinted, trying to lean in for a better look but held back by Edge’s arms, and that was when he saw it. 

The tiniest bunny in existence crept out from the bushes. A ball of fluff that paused just outside the concealing branches, wee little ears perking up as it listened for threats like the loud squeal that Stretch barely managed to stifle behind his own hands. As he watched, two other bunnies hopped out next to their braver (or more foolhardy) brethren. The three of them hopped around the base of the bushes, pausing occasionally to munch on any particularly tasty bits of clover. 

Stretch had no sense of time as to how long they sat there together watching the baby buns, but by the time the little ones returned home into the safety of lavender-dappled branches, his bones were stiff from struggling to keep still. Once the last tiny cottonball tail disappeared into the green, Edge loosened his arms and let him go. For about as long as it took for Stretch to turn around and fling himself back into them, holding his love tightly because Edge brought him to see _bunnies_.

Edge didn’t usually laugh out loud, a rough chuckle was about as far as he got, so people probably thought he didn’t laugh much at all. People were wrong because people didn’t get to hold Edge close, didn’t get to feel the vibrations of the laughter that was caught in his rib cage, held back much the same way he’d held Stretch. 

That was okay, Edge held back his laughter for about the same reason he held back Stretch. Some things needed to stay hidden until they felt safe to come out.

He squeezed Edge tightly, absorbed the feel of that silent laughter, then drew back to look at him, the better to see the soft pleasure in his crimson eye lights, my dear.

“i love you,” Stretch told him softly, simply, and the neighbors could deal with a little kissing, even if it was trending towards the exuberant side. 

His way of enjoying the outdoors was still better, but eh, there was room for detours on the path.

-fin


	18. Narcissist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge and Stretch really don't look THAT much alike. (No matter what Red says)

* * *

It was not narcissistic, in Edge’s opinion, to think that his husband was beautiful, no matter what his brother said about it. They really did not look that much alike and Red’s sly insinuations ceased about the time that Edge pointed out that he called Stretch pretty often enough that if thought the resemblance was strong, perhaps he should add that moniker to Edge’s collection of insulting nicknames. Pretty little brother, for example, was a strong contender.

Red did not, in fact, do that, and narcissist was suspiciously absent as well. Pretty little liability remained and that was one that Edge did not mind, even if he was grateful Red never said it within Stretch’s earshot.

Truthfully, Stretch _was_ pretty, and no amount of baggy sweatshirts and shorts could hide it. The curves of his bones were softer and more rounded than any of the others, the arch of his cheekbones made him seem as if he was always on the cusp of a real smile. His hands were slender, his phalanges long and delicate, and his height made him seem willowy rather than Papyrus’s gangliness, no matter how much he slouched. 

As far as Edge was concerned, Stretch was a feast for the eyes whether he was curled up sleeping on the sofa or roaming the streets with the neighborhood children, his hands moving as quickly as he talked. But never did he seem lovelier than he was in a temper. 

Edge looked up from the bread he was kneading— and wasn’t it a relief to be back in his kitchen— to see Stretch storming in, the door swinging wildly on its hinges as he stood fuming. His normally pale eye lights tinted orange, a matching flush high on his cheekbones, slim hands clenched into fists, and his magic practically snapping in the air around him like more dangerous form of static electricity. 

He was, to put it simply, gorgeous and Edge tried not to allow his rapt attention to show on his face. 

Stretch heaved in a breath and pointed a furious finger at Edge as he snarled, “you are an asshole!”

“Yes?” Edge agreed cautiously. He wiped his hands clean on a towel as he waited patiently to see what he was an asshole for, while silently appreciating the view. He was not disappointed; Stretch drew himself up to his full height, his glowing blush deepening to a shade reminiscent of a sunset as he huffed and sputtered, and it was magnificent. 

“you’re an asshole and a jerk and why would you do this and not tell me!” Stretch’s voice broke on the last word and instead of walking, he shortcutted around the counter practically into Edge’s arms and clung to him, his face buried into Edge’s shoulder. His voice was muffled against Edge’s shirt as he said, “it’s beautiful.”

Ah, there was a mystery solved. Edge smoothed a cautious bare hand down the pristine curve of Stretch’s skull. He’d removed his gloves to better knead the bread dough and beneath his careful fingertips he could feel the lines of coronal sutures. “I take it you found the butterfly garden I planted for you.”

“yes! why didn’t you say something!” Stretch pulled back enough to glare at him and delight coupled with indignation might well be Edge’s new favorite look from him.

“Because this was a great deal more fun.” Also, until the flowers bloomed any winged visitors would be minimal, and Stretch did not need the daily disappointment that would come with the wait.

Yesterday when the first lilac flowers blossomed, Edge added the plaque declaring it a butterfly garden along with the wire decorations he’d purchased at last year’s fair, monarchs and moths made of curling copper wire and glass. It seemed Stretch discovered it when he went out this morning to feed the chickens. There were even odds that Stretch would either be delighted or furious at the deception, it was pure luck he chose the latter. Very good luck and Edge did not have a superstitious bone in his body, but perhaps planting a little more clover wouldn’t be amiss. 

Stretch’s sudden kiss did spoil the view, but it was difficult to care as all that temper and delight was poured to the firm press of his mouth. He drew back only long enough to mumble, “you’re still an asshole.”

“Yes,” Edge agreed, holding Stretch’s pretty face between gentle hands as he kissed him again. He was never prettier than when he was furious, but softened with love and happiness was always a very close second. 

-finis-


	19. Comfort Zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge doesn't often get a chance to sit quietly in his brother's company and he's probably not going to get to now.

* * *

It wasn’t often that Edge had to opportunity to sit with his brother and…well, perhaps enjoy his company wasn’t quite the phrase he was looking for, but it was something like it. He couldn’t recall a single instance in Underfell; at the end of a long day on duty, they’d often sat together on the sofa and watched Mettaton together with a sort of glossy exhaustion, but that wasn’t the same. Nothing like this, sitting on the Edge’s front porch in the late afternoon with a glass of iced tea at their sides.

Edge’s original intention was simply to enjoy the fine weather, sitting out in the sunshine. He hadn’t questioned it when Red abruptly came out of a shortcut and sat down with him. Edge only poured him a glass of tea from the pitcher, silently pushing over the bottle of sugar syrup he’d brought in case Stretch decided to join him. Red took his offering without a comment, sitting in the patio chair with his short legs swinging lazily, his shoes inches from the ground. 

Companionable silence, that was the word for it. Not one Edge ever thought he’d apply to Red, until today.

They sat together in easy quiet, watching the occasional child ride by on a bicycle or neighbors out for a stroll waving as they passed. 

It was…nice, Edge decided. Yes, nice, to sit here and not guard every word that came out of his mouth, or listen to his brother and try to discern the double or even triple meaning behind what he said. 

The silence lasted for a fair amount of time and what interrupted it was not what Edge expected. 

He very nearly smelled it before he saw it; Stretch coming out of a shortcut on their front walkway, nearly tumbling out of it, with Jeff right behind him. They looked, and smelled, slightly singed, burnt rubber and something Edge was adamant could not be a whiff of any kind of explosives because Stretch was banned from using them on his own. He’d _promised_. 

Faint wisps of smoke were still coming off their clothes and both of them were coughing, Stretch’s wheezing vanishing into a rough gasp when he looked up and saw they had an audience. 

Immediately he stood up straight and pasted an expression of utter innocence on his pretty, lying face as he said brightly, “babe! you’re here! outside and everything, wow, um, that’s super, is that iced tea, i—”

“what the fuck happened to you?” Red interrupted, rudely, and for once, Edge was perfectly fine with his brother’s lack of manners. 

"what happened?” Stretch repeated. As if Edge didn’t know a deliberate stalling tactic when he heard one. “what happened was…ah. so, the experiment was a complete failure," Stretch said philosophically, "but no one was hurt and that is exactly what these tests runs are for!"

Stretch could at times be an excellent liar; he had a knack for weaving half-truths into a relatively believable story that made it difficult to puzzle out what was the lie and what wasn’t. Jeff, on the other hand, was not in the slightest, and Edge only looked at him, the weakest link in Stretch’s deceitful chain, waiting as the guilt in his expression slowly multiplied. 

When Jeff finally opened his mouth, likely to spill the truth out in a glut of apologies, a sharp jab in his ribs from Stretch’s elbow made him snap it shut again, blast it all. 

“no one was hurt,” Stretch repeated, louder. He gave Jeff a side eye and the meaning Edge read from that look was a modified version of ‘snitches get stitches.’ “and that is what’s important.”

Like the true friend he was, Jeff nodded along with that, his lightly smoking hair wafting a fresh puff.

"no one was hurt, huh?" Red drawled and of course he only sounded amused, "'bout how long d'ya think it'll take andy's eyebrows to grow back?"

Jeff's hands flew to his forehead while Stretch scoffed, "now you're just exaggerating, he lost a cumulative half an eyebrow at most."

“You can’t combine hair loss like that!” Edge snapped. It might have been satisfying to see them both cringe if it weren’t for the fact that they were both still fucking _smoking_. “And you aren’t supposed to be using any explosives. I know this because you told me you wouldn’t, in these exact words in this order, ‘I will not use explosives on my own. I promise.’” 

Stretch pressed a hand to his chest, mortally offended, "are you suggesting i would break a promise? because as you can see for yourself, i didn’t. i wasn’t alone, now was i! adult supervision, right there with me!”

“Adult supervision,” Edge repeated, unsmiling. “And to whom exactly are you claiming that applies?”

Now it seemed to be Jeff’s turn for mortal offense. He stopped his inspection of his eyebrows to protest, "I was there!”

Edge only shook his head while Red laughed loudly, slapping his knee, "yeah, you're more what we refer to as an accomplice than supervision, andy."

Edge took a long, slow breath, willing his agitated soul to settle. No one was hurt, that was the important thing. “Go inside and clean up, I can smell you from here. We can discuss terms of supervision later.”

“yes, dear,” Stretch agreed meekly, and if there was any cheekiness to it, he masked it well. He slunk past Edge and Red into the house, Jeff at his heels.

“Put your clothes directly into the washing machine,” Edge called before the door shut behind them. 

The moment it closed, Edge picked up his iced tea and drained the glass, setting it back down with a touch too much force and refilling it with urgency that slopped tea over the rim of the glass. He drank that as well, letting it cool his inner heat, before settling back into his chair again. 

Next to him, his brother shifted in his seat. “bro—” Red started.

“Shut up,” Edge said automatically.

“c’mon, boss—”

“I do not want to hear it.”

“nothin’?” Red chuckled, “not even, ‘he’s got an explosive personality’ or ‘nice to see your honey still blows you away’. Maybe a, ‘don’t blow up at him when you talk’?”

“The only explosive I’m planning on using when we talk is an f-bomb,” Edge said dryly.

Silence, then his brother burst out laughing, shaking so hard with it his glass wobbled ominously next to him, spilling out a miniature tidal wave of tea. 

Edge did not allow a smile to show, hiding it beneath another cooling sip of tea. His brother’s honest laughter was rarer than the companionable silence he lapsed back into when he was done. 

That was probably for the best. Chances were high that Edge needed to save all the words he could to use on his husband later, whether they were explosive ones or not. 

-finis


	20. Chivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chivalry isn't dead and happiness can come from a machine.

* * *

“do you have a quarter?”

Edge looked up from the somewhat mesmerizing flash of prices across the screen as the cashier scanned their purchases. Next to him, Stretch was bouncing on his toes, waiting impatiently for an answer. This new trend of him joining Edge for grocery shopping wasn’t likely to continue after he no longer needed a cane, but Edge had to admit, he would be amused by it while it did. Stretch lasted exactly long enough to push their loaded cart to the checkout before the boredom overtook him and he promptly abandoned Edge to fussily group the items on the belt as he wanted them to be bagged. 

His return and the question meant something caught Stretch’s interest, and that raised an all new question of what.

“I don’t usually carry change,” Edge said warily. He refused to feel guilty about that as Stretch’s face fell. 

“what about a dollar,” Stretch wheedled, “there’s a change machine.”

There was no point in asking what happened to the cash he knew Stretch carried with him, some things were better left unknown. Edge pulled out his wallet to check the contents, “The smallest bill I have is five, do—excuse you!”

Stretch snatched the bill the moment it cleared the leather and dashed away. Edge only watched him go, shaking his head. Even if he was willing to abandon their shopping, which he wasn’t, any physical running after his husband was still off the table. Honestly, if there were plenty of reasons to wish for a speedy recovery for his leg, the ability to chase Stretch was near the top of the list. 

“If he’s out there riding that mechanical monstrosity of a horse, I’m leaving him here,” Edge said under his breath.

The cashier only seemed amused. He likely saw scenes like this all day long or at least Edge hoped it wasn’t an event singled out for them. The cashier added the last items to the canvas bags and asked, “Do you have any coupons today?”

By the time Edge paid and all the bags were in the cart, enough time had passed that Stretch could have gotten into unimaginable amounts of trouble; unimaginable, except that Edge’s mind insisted on imagining it. If not the mechanical rides out front, perhaps he was bartering with someone in the parking lot and the only way that might end well was if the result was a box of girl scout cookies. 

It was almost a relief to find Stretch was sitting on the floor in front of a bank of small coin machines, each of the glass containers brimming with capsules and covered with stickers advertising what they might contain. 

As Edge watched, Stretch dropped a coin into the slot and twisted the crank determinedly. With a plastic rattle, one of the balls dropped down into the chute. Stretch retrieved it quickly, examining it closely. 

“damn it,” Stretch muttered. It joined a pile sitting by his hip of what Edge could only assume were forlorn rejects.

“What on earth are you doing?” Edge asked, more amused than exasperated. He guided the cart off to the side, closer to the machines, and ignored the glare of the Human woman who pushed her loaded cart around them. More important to him was that Stretch didn’t notice; if he had, the frustrated expression on his face would have melted into embarrassment. He would snatch up his collection of disappointments and head out to the car, and likely would never admit to what exactly he was trying to achieve. 

That all his focus was on the little machine in front of him was helped by Edge standing directly behind him, acting as a physical barrier of sorts between his love and the world. 

Stretch tipped his head back to looked up at him with an upside-down scowl. His tone heavily implied that the answer should be obvious, “i’m trying to win!”

“Is it really winning when you buy the entire canister?” Edge mused. With some effort, he crouched down to pick up one of the rejected plastic containers, peering at the contents. It took him a minute of squinting to realize it was a small figure of a dragon. Despite the size and plastic material, it was fair representation and as Stretch tried the machine again, Edge retrieved a leftover bag from cart and began to gather up the stockpile sitting by Stretch’s hip. The variety was impressive, dragons with widespread wings and snarling expressions in a rainbow of colors, ready to leap from their little plastic eggs and into a pair of childish hands. Or skeletal ones, as the case may be. 

The last one was barely in the bag when Stretch all but squealed in delight, “i got it!”

“Congratulations,” Edge said, “And what was worth a fistful of quarters—”

He trailed off as Stretch held up his prize triumphantly. It was another dragon, sitting proudly atop a glass ball, its black and crimson wings spread wide and its expression one of fierce protectiveness, guarding its treasure. All in all, an impressive trophy for a single quarter. 

“it’s you!” Stretch said gleefully and Edge blinked, glancing from the toy to his husband’s grinning face. 

“Yes, I can see how you’d mistake a snarling winged lizard for me,” Edge said dryly, “the expression is a dead giveaway. Surely it stole a portion of my soul when we came inside.”

Stretch clutched the toy to his chest in mock offense, “it’s a dragon, not a lizard!” 

“I suppose I should thank you for your rescue attempt, unnecessary as it was,” Edge added the bag of misfit toys to his cart, and started out to the car, “Although I’m grateful you didn’t break the glass in an attempt to free me.”

“sounds like a good excuse to start carrying around more quarters,” Stretch said slyly as he trailed behind, Edge-dragon in hand, “just in case of accidental vending machine ingestion.”

“I’d rather risk it than walk around sounding like a summer rendition of jingle bells.”

Stretch’s laughter was worth any amount of quarters. 

His love was an unusual knight errant, Edge thought, one meant to save the dragon rather than slaying it. But then, he’d already done it once before, hadn’t he, arming himself with smiles and adoration rather than a sword to tame a beast.

At the car, before he began loading in the groceries, Edge took a moment to catch Stretch’s hand, the one without a dragon in it. He pressed a light kiss against his knuckles, right above his wedding band, and watched that gentle touch soften Stretch’s eye lights, hazing them with happiness. 

Then Edge let him go. “Come along, Galahad, let’s get home before the ice cream melts.”

“sir, yes, sir!” Stretch gave him a sloppy salute, clicking the heels of his awful sandals together and then started loading.

Perhaps when he got home, Edge would have a look through their newest toy menagerie to see if he could find a suitable dragon in orange to make a matched set.

If not, he might have to make another trip out and bring along a few quarters of his own. It would be worth a few minutes of jangling, if it ended with Stretch’s delight.

-fin


End file.
